


Papilio Maackii

by shions_heart



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:06:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5062249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shions_heart/pseuds/shions_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before Iwaizumi heads off to university he gets a text from Oikawa.</p><p>
  <em>Meet me on the bridge in an hour.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Papilio Maackii

**Author's Note:**

> It started as a drabble prompt, but it grew once I started writing it, as my drabbles are apparently wont to do.
> 
> The prompt was "Meet me on the bridge in an hour."

_Meet me on the bridge in an hour._

Iwaizumi looks down at the text on his phone, his other hand stuffed into the pocket of his jacket. It’s past midnight at the beginning of March, and the cool, lingering winter breeze pulls at the flannel of his dark blue pajama pants. They were a gift to him from his mother, given to him with a scolding to make sure he stayed warm at university. They weren’t doing much to keep him warm now, though he supposes that was because they weren’t meant to be worn outside in the dead of night.

But when Oikawa sent him the text, he hadn’t stopped to get changed, simply threw on his thickest jacket and shoes before leaving. He knows it’s probably a bad idea to be out so late, especially when he has a train to catch in the morning. But that very fact is precisely the reason why he’s freezing his ass off on a bridge at zero-one-thirty with a sense of urgency pounding his heart against his ribs.

He’s early though, so he returns the phone to his pocket and turns to lean his elbows against the railing of the bridge. He didn’t have to ask Oikawa which bridge he meant. It was one they both knew well from their childhood together, racing up and down the length of it and underneath it in their various adventures. He remembers the times he was cajoled into playing “alien abduction,” which was really just Oikawa’s version of Hide-and-Seek where he was “abducted” and Iwaizumi had to find him.

Iwaizumi always knew where Oikawa was, since he always hid in the same spot (underneath a bench in the park across the river), so he spent his time searching for worms and bugs along the riverbank until Oikawa began to cry out for Iwaizumi to rescue him already. He would show off the bugs he found to Oikawa, grinning as his best friend squealed and squirmed away, and all in all the time spent together was never unpleasant.

Despite Oikawa’s declarations that insects were gross, he never had an issue with the butterflies Iwaizumi caught, and he always cried when Iwaizumi let them go after cataloguing them. Iwaizumi can recall the way Oikawa’s eyes lit up, as he held the jar close to his face and stared at the latest acquisition, an iridescent green [_papilio maackii_](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/b/b0/Papilio_maackii_male.JPG/250px-Papilio_maackii_male.JPG).

“What’s this one called?” he asked, as he always did, his breath fogging the glass.

“It’s an Alpine Black Swallowtail,” Iwaizumi said, picking up his butterfly guidebook and flipping through the pages until he found the correct photo to show Oikawa, lifting it in front of him. “See?”

Oikawa glanced between the book and the insect in his hands, grinning. “That’s so cool! It looks exactly the same!”

“Of course it does,” Iwaizumi said, setting the book down and grabbing his camera instead. “Hold it up so I can take a picture.”

Oikawa held the jar close to his face and turned to face Iwaizumi with a smile so bright his eyes squinted closed. Iwaizumi would realize later that the majority of the photos sitting in his scrapbook of butterflies he collected contained Oikawa as well.

Iwaizumi wonders now where that scrapbook went. He can’t remember if it’s stored away in his mom’s attic or if he got rid of it during a spring-cleaning. He hopes he didn’t.

He pulls out his phone once more to check the time. It’s been twenty minutes past the time Oikawa wanted to meet, and Iwaizumi contemplates leaving. It’s only growing colder, and he can see his breath misting in front of his face with every exhale. But he stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets and endures it, figuring he can always kick Oikawa in retaliation when he shows.

Another ten minutes pass before he can see a figure running toward him in the lamplight, something thick tucked under one arm. Iwaizumi recognizes the glow-in-the-dark alien pajama pants and rolls his eyes. Of course Oikawa wouldn’t think to put on clothes either. At least he’s wearing a jacket as well.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Oikawa exclaims, panting as he slows to a stop in front of Iwaizumi. “It took me forever to find it.” He grabs the thing under his arm and presents it to Iwaizumi with a flourish.

Iwaizumi takes it slowly, staring down at the aged, well-worn and leather-bound scrapbook. The memory hits him suddenly, and he recalls that he _did_ intend to get rid of it during a spring-cleaning, being fourteen years old and finding the collection childish since he was about to enter his first year of high school. Oikawa had protested loudly at such a notion, until Iwaizumi told him he could have it, if only to shut him up.

Oikawa is watching him expectantly, so Iwaizumi opens it, flipping through the yellowed pages. It’s full of pictures of Oikawa, as he knew it would be, and in each one he’s holding up a different butterfly caught in a jar. Iwaizumi swallows hard past the lump that’s threatening to cut off his air supply, his chest aching, as he looks through photo after photo of young Oikawa, growing older through each page, from age six to age ten, where the scrapbook ends. In the last picture, he’s sticking out his tongue and throwing up a peace sign in such a familiar gesture, Iwaizumi’s gut clenches.

He shuts the book quickly, staring up at Oikawa with a faint frown.

“Why are you giving me this?” he asks, his voice gruff, and he knows he probably sounds ungrateful, but the way his heart is throbbing in his throat is making it difficult to speak normally, and he’s struggling to stave off the tears burning the corners of his eyes.

Oikawa blinks at him. “It’s something to remember me by!” he chirps. “So you won’t forget me when you’re stuffing your tiny brain full of knowledge studying to become a sports injury physical therapist. It’ll be a lot for you to handle.”

“I’m not going to forget you, dumbass,” Iwaizumi says, annoyance slipping into his tone. He feels angry now, though he isn’t entirely sure why. Maybe it’s irritation at the implication that their friendship means that little to him.

“I know,” Oikawa says, smiling faintly. He moves to stand beside him on the bridge, leaning his arms against the railing and staring off at the lights of the town. The lamplight above casts his hair in an orange glow, the shadows causing his features to sharpen, look almost enigmatic and foreign. It’s like he’s aged several years, and Iwaizumi finds the effect unsettling.

“We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa says then, and his voice is strangely serious as well. He turns his head to look at Iwaizumi, a faint smile playing about his lips. “You’ve been the best friend anyone could ask for.”

Iwaizumi feels his cheeks heating up at such sentimentality, despite the chill in the air. He kicks Oikawa’s leg just hard enough for him to yelp and hop back a step, rubbing at it with an offended look.

“Stop talking like I’m about to die,” Iwaizumi snaps, clutching the scrapbook tighter in his hands. “It’s just university and unless you’re planning to become a recluse we’ll see each other on holidays and breaks.”

“ _Iwa-chan_ ,” Oikawa whines, lowering his foot. “I was _trying_ to be _romantic_.”

Iwaizumi feels his brain _whirr_ to a stop. He stares, completely caught off-guard and having no idea what to do about it.

“What.” The word comes out flat and not like a question at all.

“I'm in love with you, Hajime,” Oikawa says then, biting his lip, as he takes a small step closer. Iwaizumi is too in shock to do anything but let him. “And I know this is the worst possible timing, but I didn’t want to start the new chapter of my life with any regrets. We’re leaving for university tomorrow, and it’s likely we’ll drift apart. That happens with most childhood friends when they enter university, doesn’t it? I’ll be busy with my volleyball career, and you’ll be busy with your studies. You’ll probably meet a really nice girl and marry her and have dozens of children, and if I waited to tell you I could ruin that for you; hurt you.” He shakes his head. “So I decided to tell you now.”

Iwaizumi is sure he looks like an idiot, staring slack-jawed at Oikawa in the lengthening silence following that speech. He doesn’t know what to say. No words come to him. Despite all the years he’s known Oikawa, despite how close they’ve gotten, how much Iwaizumi cares for Oikawa, he never entertained the possibility of their relationship growing into something more. It never occurred to him that it was an option. But now, as he looks at Oikawa, bathed in lamplight, a faint flush coloring his cheeks, looking back at him with soft brown eyes, Iwaizumi wonders why it hadn’t.

But it’s too late now, isn’t it? Oikawa himself mentioned how terrible the timing was. So what was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say? Did he leave their friendship as it was? Leave Oikawa to pine until he realized the hopelessness of his situation and moved on? Or did he risk everything, all his carefully laid plans for the future, on his best friend in a relationship that might not even work in the end?

The silence lingers, tension growing, as Iwaizumi continues to hesitate, until Oikawa suddenly claps his hands together, startling him. “So!” he says brightly, grinning that fake smile that hides his insecurities and fears in a single movement. “I’ve said what I wanted to say. Don’t struggle too hard trying to think of a reply. You don’t want to hurt your head.” He forces his smile to widen, but his eyes remain still and full of disappointment.

Iwaizumi hears the insult implied in Oikawa’s words, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, because in that moment, watching that horrible smile stretch over Oikawa’s features, he realizes that he doesn’t want to leave Oikawa looking like that for the foreseeable future. He wants Oikawa to be happy, actually happy, the way he was back when they were ten.

And he realizes that he wants to be happy too.

He doesn’t want to live with regrets either.

His hand shoots out, grabbing the front of Oikawa’s jacket and yanking him forward. Oikawa squawks in surprise, losing the smile as his eyes widen. Iwaizumi lifts onto his toes slightly in order to kiss Oikawa firmly, shutting his eyes tightly, as his heart hammers a frantic rhythm against his chest.

Oikawa’s lips are soft and pliant, and once he gets over his shock he opens up easily to Iwaizumi, his breath warming Iwaizumi’s mouth with a soft exhale. His hands rest on Iwaizumi’s shoulders, slowly sliding up to cradle either side of his face with a gentle touch, thumbs running along Iwaizumi’s cheekbones and leaving prickles of fire in their wake.

That fire spreads throughout Iwaizumi’s entire body, and he tightens his grasp on Oikawa’s jacket. His other arm clutches the scrapbook to his increasingly aching chest. Oikawa steps closer and gently prods Iwaizumi’s lips with his tongue, until they part and allow him inside. Iwaizumi feels a shiver move down his spine at the first stroke of Oikawa’s tongue along his bottom lip, before it moves hesitantly forward. And Iwaizumi’s stomach drops into his knees, weakening them, as he feels that first touch of slippery warmth against his gums and teeth. He meets the pressure as best he can, but too soon he becomes overwhelmed and has to take a step back.

They part, and Iwaizumi rests his back against the railing of the bridge, panting. His breath mists in front of him, but he can’t feel the cold anymore. His body tingles with heat, and he feels himself sweating, his head buzzing. He focuses his gaze straight ahead, unable to process anything but the image of Oikawa standing before him, flushed with lips glistening and lightly swollen, still parted, as he fights for breath as well.

He smiles then, a real smile that reaches his eyes with a sparkle. “Was that your answer, Hajime?” he asks, and it’s “Hajime” again, not “Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi swallows hard past the thudding of his heart in his throat, flexing his stiff fingers. “I . . . guess it was,” he says after a moment, realizing that he didn’t need any eloquent words after all.

Oikawa reaches forward to take his hand, his long fingers spreading more flames across his skin, loosening the joints, and Iwaizumi wraps his own fingers around them reflexively.

“Can I go home with you tonight?” Oikawa asks softly.

Iwaizumi can only nod.

Together they walk back to Iwaizumi’s house and silently enter. They set their shoes by the door as quietly as they can, before retreating to Iwaizumi’s room. Iwaizumi sets the scrapbook down on his packed suitcase, the only thing left in the room beside the bed, the rest of his things having been moved to his dorm in the weeks previous.

Oikawa pulls off his jacket and falls onto the bed, and Iwaizumi follows suit, his back to Oikawa, not sure he can look at his face right now. Immediately, Oikawa shifts closer, wrapping an arm and a leg around Iwaizumi, pressing against him until Iwaizumi can feel his full body heat merging with his own. It feels entirely different than the nights they’ve spent together in the past. There’s a new tension in the atmosphere, an expectant nature to it. Iwaizumi inhales slowly, and when he releases the air, it shudders through his chest with a tremor.

“Tooru.”

“Mm, yes?” Oikawa nuzzles his nose into the back of Iwaizumi’s hair, his words following a sigh of contentment.

Iwaizumi closes his eyes, reaching for Oikawa’s hand and clasping it tightly once more.

“Thanks for the scrapbook.”

Oikawa laughs softly, his breath moving across Iwaizumi’s ear like a caress, bringing with it more heat that Iwaizumi struggles to ignore.

“You’re welcome, Hajime.”

**Author's Note:**

> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


End file.
